


Fits and Starts

by zenso



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Crying, Deepthroating, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-29 23:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenso/pseuds/zenso
Summary: Collection of thirty-one short stories based loosely around the Kinktober prompt list. Most are set in the same universe but are out of order chronologically. Tags and relationships will be added as I post each chapter, and individual chapter titles contain prompt and pairing.





	1. "Deep-Throating" McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree sensed Hanzo’s newfound determination and groaned helplessly, desperate to feel the full length of himself in his partner’s throat but knowing that this was not the time to push boundaries. His dilemma resolved itself when Hanzo made the decision for him and surged forward, resting his nose against the soft of McCree’s stomach. McCree’s hands moved to back of Hanzo’s head and his fingers gripped his hair with an almost painful tightness. Hanzo could feel the strands coming loose from the ribbon already but could not feel even the slightest bit of remorse over it. He delighted in the scratch of McCree’s metal digits against his scalp and the pull of his hair clenched in the other man’s fist.

Author’s Note: I know I’m a bit late to the whole Kinktober thing, but I found myself in dire need of writing prompts and here we are. I’ll try to double up some days and eventually get caught up, but this very well could end up being finished in November. I’m not very familiar with writing smut or anything resembling it so I’m very cautiously optimistic about this prompt list. At the very least I hope to learn from it and push myself out of my typical comfort zone. For Day One I chose McHanzo, though when I was writing it I pictured it as more of a one-night stand that may lead to something more later rather than any kind of established relationship. Either way, it’s done and it’s actually double my 1000 word goal so I’m satisfied.  
\--zenso

# 1\. Deep-Throating

Hanzo pulled back suddenly, clearing his throat around an irritated sigh. The hand that had previously been keeping a firm grip on the back of his head loosened immediately and Hanzo felt rough fingers pulling lightly through his hair. A colder set of fingers wiped absent-mindedly at his full lips before trailing down to his chin and lifting his head upwards. His gaze followed, and his eyes met with the amused expression on McCree’s face. 

“You know you don’t have to try s’hard, right? You got nothing to prove to me, Shimada.” At least McCree seemed to be trying to keep the smile off his face, but Hanzo could practically hear it underneath that rumbling drawl. 

Hanzo slapped McCree’s prosthetic hand from his chin half-heartedly but let him keep the other in his hair. He’d never admit it, but he enjoyed the occasional catch of McCree’s fingertips in the otherwise flawlessly styled strands. He fought the urge to retreat from the other man’s open and honest expression, not wanting to display any more weakness in this moment. 

“It is not that. I just do not accept… shortcomings.” At that, Hanzo did turn his gaze down to the other man’s chest. McCree was seated before him, shirt unbuttoned, and pants opened only enough to allow for what little they had accomplished so far. He was on his knees before the cowboy, fully dressed himself and yet somehow fully exposed. 

“I sure hope you don’t think I’m the sort of man to suggest anything about a pretty thing like you is a ‘shortcoming’, darling.” 

“Flattery will not work in your favor, American.” Hanzo’s tone fell into a familiar haughtiness. 

McCree laughed again, full and unbridled this time. “Come on, I ain’t allowed to call you pretty? That’s gonna be real hard if you keep putting that mouth of yours—” 

“Do not dare finish that thought.” Hanzo fixed the other man with a decidedly unimpressed stare and removed the hand from the back of his head. McCree put both hands in front of him in a mock surrender. 

Hanzo looked up at the other man’s lap, where his impressive cock rested, only displaying a half-interest in the conversation of its owner. He reached up from his position before McCree and began to stroke him purposefully into full arousal. He fixed the cock in his hand with a calculating look while he palmed the head softly, spreading the leftover wetness from his earlier attempts. 

“You are perhaps more well-endowed than I am accustomed to.” 

“Well look who’s doing the flatterin’ now.” McCree reached down again and rested his prosthetic hand on the back of Hanzo’s head. “But I can’t say I’ve had many complaints.”

“I find it hard to believe all your partners have managed not to voice a single complaint against you or that weapon you call a cock.” Hanzo squeezed firmly on his last word before resuming his steady pace. 

“God help me, I love it when you say ‘cock’.” McCree leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He appeared lost to the gentle haze of pleasure for a few silent moments. Then he cracked one gleaming eye open. He leaned back forward slightly and placed the index finger of his prosthetic hand onto Hanzo’s lower lip. Hanzo took the finger fully in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it despite knowing that McCree could not feel it. 

“But seeing as one of those 'partners' happened to be Genji, you prob’ly don’t—” Hanzo bit down hard on the finger in his mouth and then pushed the hand away entirely. 

“Ow!” McCree jokingly shook the metal hand and cradled it to his chest. “C’mon Shimada, don’t be that way!” Hanzo stood up and moved across the room, refusing to dignify the other man with anything more than a cutting side glance. He sat down on McCree’s bed and collected his hair ribbon from where the cowboy had unceremoniously pulled it loose earlier. He held the golden silk in his mouth and made a show of slowly gathering his hair into its usual high ponytail, knowing McCree was watching him. 

“I didn’t mean nothing by that. Come back over here and let me make it up t’you.” McCree waggled his eyebrows suggestively, catching Hanzo’s eye for a moment. Hanzo muttered in Japanese around the ribbon before he pulled it out of his mouth and used it to secure his hair. 

“You’re always sayin’ that I’m not as funny as I think I am.” McCree laughed nervously and picked at a loose string on the arm of the chair. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence before Hanzo replied. 

“I do not appreciate the reminder of your encounters with... my brother.” Distaste practically dripped from Hanzo’s voice, the exact source of which he was not sure either of them could pinpoint. 

“Darling, you know this ain’t about no one but you. I’m real sorry.” McCree’s voice had turned serious, just shy of pleading but obviously affected. Hanzo finally looked back towards him. “C’mere, sweetheart.” Hanzo blinked at him once, unimpressed, and started to turn away again. 

“Hanzo. Look at me.” McCree’s voice took on a deeper, husky tone. Hanzo froze, both at the use of his first name and the shift in his partner’s voice, and felt his cock twitch in interest despite his attempts to remain impassive. McCree held both his hands out in front of him. “Come over here.” 

"You got to let yourself go, Hanzo. Stop being so fucking proud for one night, that's all I'm askin'. You might actually get something outta all this." The words hung heavy in the silence and Hanzo's mind supplied him instantly with several scathing retorts. He opened his mouth but found he could not voice even one when he met the powerful expression of the man across the room. There was something decidedly darker in the other man's eyes and he felt it cut straight through him in a way he was not familiar with. He had trusted this man with both their lives on the battlefield time and time again, but it was another thing entirely to trust him here. This was supposed to be meaningless, a simple way to scratch an itch. 

Hanzo stood completely still, trying to process the turn that things were beginning to take between the two of them. Eventually he made his way back over to the other man slowly and stood between his spread legs, not breaking eye contact. He placed his hands in McCree’s, still not quite used to the feeling of the metal fingertips wrapped around his own. 

“On your knees, darling. Reckon you ought to finish what you started.” Hanzo felt his cock harden considerably as a result of being ordered around by the man in front of him. He knelt down immediately, still holding his hands in McCree’s. He could see that the cowboy was similarly affected by his act of submission and that only served to heighten his own arousal. 

Without breaking eye contact, Hanzo leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head of the other man’s still-exposed cock. McCree groaned and leaned back again, dropping Hanzo’s hands to place his own on each side of his head. He gently guided Hanzo down further into his lap, letting Hanzo set the pace for the most part but applying enough pressure to make his point. One of Hanzo’s hands came to a rest on McCree’s thigh and the other joined his mouth to gently stroke along the length of his cock. 

“You look so damn pretty like that.” Hanzo pressed down further in response to the praise, taking more of his partner’s cock. McCree bucked his hips slightly, holding back just enough to not overwhelm the man before him. He grit his teeth and bucked into the wet heat of Hanzo’s mouth several more times, punctuating each word. “So—damn—pretty.”

Hanzo lowered himself even further on McCree’s cock experimentally, trying to find the point of resistance that had ruined his earlier attempts at deep-throating his partner. Things already felt easier through the haze of submission and Hanzo thought distantly that his earlier problems may not been the fault of the cowboy after all. He felt the remaining tension drain slowly out of him and he relaxed around the cock in his mouth, determined now to show the man in front of him what he was truly capable of. 

“You were fuckin’ made to take my cock, I swear.” McCree hissed when Hanzo ran his tongue along the underside of his length and swirled around the head. 

Hanzo’s head swam with the warring feelings of giving himself over and the desire to defend his honor to the cowboy. In the end, the pleasure of the moment won and Hanzo remained where he was, his protests mostly forgotten. It had been so long since he had let himself get lost in simply savoring the experience this way, inhibitions swept aside in favor of reckless abandon. Hanzo took more of McCree into his mouth, moving the hand on his cock to rest on his other thigh. 

McCree sensed Hanzo’s newfound determination and groaned helplessly, desperate to feel the full length of himself in his partner’s throat but knowing that this was not the time to push boundaries. His dilemma resolved itself when Hanzo made the decision for him and surged forward, resting his nose against the soft of McCree’s stomach. McCree’s hands moved to back of Hanzo’s head and his fingers gripped his hair with an almost painful tightness. Hanzo could feel the strands coming loose from the ribbon already but could not feel even the slightest bit of remorse over it. He delighted in the scratch of McCree’s metal digits against his scalp and the pull of his hair clenched in the other man’s fist. 

Hanzo pulled off the cock in his mouth to breathe for a moment at the same time McCree groaned, “Fuck, darling” accompanied by another shallow thrust of his hips. Hanzo took McCree down his throat again, relishing the drag of his partner’s cock against his tongue and the lightheadedness that accompanied the effort. They quickly lost track of time continuing in this rhythm, slowing only when Hanzo needed to breathe or when a particularly hard thrust from McCree caused his throat to tighten uncomfortably. McCree seemed to lose his usual knack for conversation, communicating only through groans, cursing, and his partner’s name. 

“God damn it, Hanzo. You’re gonna make me cum.” McCree managed to warn him and started to pull Hanzo off using the grip on his hair, but Hanzo grabbed his thighs in retaliation to keep himself anchored firmly on McCree’s cock. He looked up at McCree and remained still, finding the other man’s wrecked gaze on him. “Please, darling. Please.” 

He resumed his steady pace, holding McCree down to prevent him from taking his own pleasure, and focused extra attention on the head of the cowboy’s cock. McCree muttered half-praises and encouragements while running his fingers through Hanzo’s hair, trying to hold off on his release. “I can’t wait, Han. You’re so good, gonna make you mine.” 

At that, Hanzo took McCree down as far as he could, pressing his nose again into the cowboy’s stomach, and swallowed determinedly around the cock in his throat. McCree did not need anything else and groaned, low and desperate. His hands held Hanzo firmly down on his cock as he rode out his release, his cum filling the throat eagerly surrounding him. 

“Take that for me, sweetheart. You look so good like that, I promise. So fuckin’ good.” McCree chased his orgasm as far as he could, before the sensations became too much and his partner was in serious need of breath. 

He made sure to watch as Hanzo pulled off completely with an obscene pop and swallowed the remnants of McCree’s release. A small strand fell over Hanzo’s bottom lip and McCree was upon him in an instant, kissing away the mess and greedily seeking out more. Hanzo felt the other man’s mouth on his own but did not have time to reciprocate or even react before McCree was pulling away, a very satisfied grin on his face. 

“You are so fuckin’ pretty, Hanzo Shimada.” 

Hanzo blinked at the other man before surging upward, meeting McCree in another kiss, this one passionate and controlling. Hanzo climbed into McCree’s lap, using one hand to pull his own cock out of his pants and the other to roam up and down the cowboy’s exposed chest. Once free, he stroked himself to full hardness and deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue into the other’s mouth and claiming him. McCree’s hand found its way down to Hanzo’s exposed erection and palmed it roughly while Hanzo broke the kiss and leaned forward, placing his mouth beside the other man’s ear. 

“Your turn, Jesse McCree.”


	2. "Begging" McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree pulled back and looked at the man spread out before him. “You are so fuckin’ perfect, Hanzo. I swear. Love hearin’ you beg for me.” He moved back over to where Hanzo lay on the bed and pressed a bruising kiss to his full lips, and another to the soft of his neck, feeling the powerful thrum of his pulse.

Author’s Note: This is a direct continuation of the last prompt so the pairing is McCree/Hanzo again. There ended up being a decent bit of breathplay in here as well but nothing too dramatic.  
\--zenso

# 2\. Begging

“Your turn, Jesse McCree.”

Hanzo pressed his lips to the shell of McCree’s ear briefly before moving away. His hands continued to map out the other man’s chest, running across the rough expanse of his skin and lingering on the occasional scars he found. He thought about the marks on his own body and the stories behind them. He pushed down the sudden and obtrusive desire to ask McCree about the story behind a large and well-aged scar that cut disturbingly close to the man’s heart. 

Hanzo had never been particularly shy when it came to matters of physicality, but his ability to keep his emotions in check had always been a point of pride. But here, now, with this man… He felt the urge to explore and be explored in return. The fingers on his inked arm corded through the wiry hairs on McCree’s chest. Hanzo allowed himself to admire the contrast of his own skin, paleness painted over, against the natural darkened complexion of the American. The dragons beneath his skin burned hot with the same desire he could feel burning him elsewhere. 

“Think I had my turn already, darlin’.” McCree laughed deep and rumbling, startling Hanzo out of his thoughts. His words were accompanied by a sudden draw of the other man’s hand over his cock, and Hanzo arched closer to him in return. 

“I want you, McCree. Do not make me regret—” His words were cut off by his own low groan when McCree tightened his grip almost painfully and leaned closer, resting his forehead against Hanzo’s. 

“We back to last names already? I’m thinking you’re gonna have to ask me a little nicer than that.” McCree did not let up on his grip, smirking at him and reaching around with his other arm to grip the back of Hanzo’s head. The prosthetic fingers combed through his hair, teasing at something rougher. 

Hanzo growled, moving to pull away but trapped by the surprisingly strict grip on his hair. “I will do no such thing.” Hanzo hated the way his voice caught on the last word as McCree loosened up around his cock and stroked him indulgently. 

“Sure you won’t, darlin’.” McCree continued to move his hand over Hanzo, relishing each small noise he could coax out of the man but unwilling to give up too much without a fight. They continued this way in relative silence for a while longer, no words spoken but the sounds of Hanzo’s labored breathing and occasional aborted groan hanging heavily in the air. He arched against McCree, thrusting up into his hand and meeting McCree’s gaze evenly. 

“You know I can take such good care of you.” McCree teased him again, pressing a ghost of a kiss against his lips and palming the head of his cock gently. The prosthetic hand in his hair gripped suddenly tighter, pulling him away from the cowboy and threatening to bring tears to his eyes. The hand then left his hair and traced over his neck, trailing downward to find where his tattoo crested over his chest. He scratched the detailed scales of one dragon and Hanzo whined as the burn in his arm intensified, spreading throughout him like an inferno. 

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open to meet the equally surprised expression on McCree’s face. The other man blinked and then grinned, eyes lighting up. “You liked that, huh?” He raked his nails across the tattoo again, delighting in the way Hanzo shivered and arched against him in his lap.

“Please…” Hanzo felt his control slip away bit by bit under the cowboy’s intense expression. McCree’s eyes darkened, and his hand moved back up to rest lightly around Hanzo’s neck. His other hand continued his leisurely indulgence of Hanzo’s cock. McCree leaned forward and kissed him fondly while exploring the pulse points of the man’s neck with his metal fingers.

“You really are something, darlin’. But I know you can do better.” McCree gripped Hanzo’s neck, careful to keep his grasp light enough not to cause him too much pain while still sending a message. Seconds past, agonizingly slow and Hanzo began to feel tendrils of involuntary panic as his vision blackened around the edges and his breathing turned labored.

McCree loosened his grip at the same instant that Hanzo choked out a broken plea around several shallow breaths. “Please, McCree.” Both his hands came up to grasp at the cowboy’s metal one, making no real effort to remove him. 

“Let’s try it one more time, sweetheart.” McCree chuckled and tightened his grip again, undeterred by Hanzo’s hands on his own. He leaned forward and kissed the man again. Hanzo fought to gather enough air around the invasion but felt his lips part in invitation without a struggle. The other hand on his cock never slowed in its steady strokes, bringing him to the edge of pleasure but never over it. He felt himself draw closer to the edge of consciousness as well and reveled in the parallel.

“Please, Jesse.” Hanzo spoke into the space between them, hearing the breathlessness in his own voice and finding it strangely euphoric. “Please…”

“Love hearin’ my name from you, Han.” McCree removed both his hands from Hanzo before resettling them on the man’s hips, smiling at the whine he lets out at the sudden lack of sensation. Hanzo arched up, desperately chasing his pleasure, even as McCree removed him from his lap. He guided Hanzo into a standing position and led him over to the bed. 

“Please—” Hanzo fell to the bed after a light push from the other man and felt the remainder of his clothes being gently removed. He groaned softly, head already spinning. 

McCree pulled back and looked at the man spread out before him. “You are so fuckin’ perfect, Hanzo. I swear. Love hearin’ you beg for me.” He moved back over to where Hanzo lay on the bed and pressed a bruising kiss to his full lips, and another to the soft of his neck, feeling the powerful thrum of his pulse. 

“Please, Jesse. Please just—” Hanzo’s pleas were cut off by his sudden low moan as he felt those lips travel further down until arriving at his cock. He felt the man mouth gently at the tip, lavishing attention on him, before taking him fully in his mouth. 

Hanzo’s hands grasped desperately at the bedsheets, bunching them between his fingertips. He lost track of time as the mouth on his cock teased him, keeping him a hazy state of drunken pleasure. “Jesse, please, I want…” He trailed off, lost in the state the other man had reduced him to. The lingering feeling of that metal hand around his neck, the mouth stealing breath from his own, and the throat around his erection. 

Hanzo felt himself slip dangerously close to his orgasm and his hands flew from the sheets to tangle in the McCree’s hair when he swallowed around him. “Fuck, Jesse, I—” Hanzo heard the expletive spoken with his own voice and distantly thought that he’d been spending too much time around the American. But when the other man hummed lightly, the vibrations around him sent him over the edge and he could only think frantically that no amount of time was too great for a payoff like this. 

Hanzo came back to reality slowly and met the gaze of Jesse McCree. The man’s face was flushed and his eyes were darkened with undisguised pleasure, lips slightly swollen. Hanzo felt a twinge of regret that he had not paid more attention to the man’s face until now, that he had not memorized every detail while he had the chance. Over the course of the night he had been taken higher than ever before at the hands and mouth of the man in front of him. There were so many feelings, physical and emotional, to process. But this feeling, with a name similar to regret, was achingly familiar. Regret for what he had done, and what he hadn’t. Hanzo was certainly no stranger to over analyzation. He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, not bothering to find where his clothes had been thrown earlier. 

Hanzo recognized the feeling of his mind turning against him, urging him to say both something and nothing to the other man. This is the point when Hanzo would normally leave, and calm the dissatisfied spirits beneath his skin with copious amounts of drink. But McCree deserved more than a rushed and insincere goodbye. He also deserved more than being stuck in Hanzo's presence after the endorphins wore off. And so Hanzo found himself uncharacteristically conflicted and unwilling to leave, but equally unwilling to stay. The unfamiliarity of the emotions fighting for dominance within him was concerning, but he selfishly wanted nothing more than to just ride the high of the experience until he was claimed by sleep. 

He felt a blanket being carefully draped over him and then a warm body settling in next to him, comforting but not stifling in its closeness. “D’you want me to stick around?” Hanzo didn’t have the energy to find words suitable for use as an answer, and this brought another tightening coil of regret to his attention. 

McCree gave him plenty of time, but eventually the heat of the other man next to him disappeared and Hanzo could hear the faint sound of the American struggling with his shirt buttons. Hanzo laughed suddenly, struck by a foreign feeling of affection. They were in McCree's own room and he was the one offering to leave. “Wait, Jesse—” He rolled over and met McCree’s gaze, struck by the sight of nervousness on the man’s face. His shirt was half buttoned, but he’d missed one near the top. Hanzo swallowed. “Please, stay.” 

McCree smiled in relief, the worry draining from his expression. He unbuttoned and discarded the lopsided shirt and flicked the light off on the way back over to the bed, settling in to his earlier position. He maintained the same respectful distance until Hanzo pressed back against him. The room was silent except for their gentle breathing, the moment slightly stilted but still comfortable. 

“Thank you, Jesse.”


	3. "Sensory Deprivation" McCree/Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no visual input, Genji found himself slipping into a state of near-euphoria. He focused on the touch of the other man, the pulsing cock in his mouth, the tight grip of hands caught in his hair, the occasional rake of fingernails on his scalp. Those were familiar, those were human. In those moments, stolen from the man in front of him, Genji remembered what it felt like to be alive. He was driven, frenzied and wrecked, to take everything he could before he lost even this.

Author’s Note: These prompts are all loosely related and in the same universe unless I decide later to deviate for a few. This one obviously takes place before the previous two and hopefully offers a bit of backstory into McCree and Genji’s earlier relationship. I’ll be writing more of these two later even though they aren’t necessarily my favorite pairing (because I am McHanzo trash). The Genji in this story, and any other story from the Blackwatch-era, is going to be a very broken character, so I apologize in advance. This isn't cute or even particularly erotic, but it will get better for them later on.  
\--zenso 

# 3\. Sensory Deprivation 

Genji couldn’t remember the first time he met McCree, or the first time they fought together. He couldn’t remember the hand McCree held out, or the lopsided grin he offered. He couldn’t remember the American’s attempts to count him amongst his friends. He certainly couldn’t remember any of the times McCree’s gaze had lingered on his body, considering the possibilities, or the playful flirtation sent his way. 

Genji’s memories fought below the surface of his consciousness, drowning in their attempts to overcome his cyber-neural enhancements. Enhancements that fed and drew only from his anger, hatred, adrenaline. Genji experienced the world through a haze, too detached to connect in a meaningful way, but never detached enough to escape. 

But Genji remembered Rialto. He remembered looking over at McCree, noticing how the brim of his hat kept his face concealed even as the rest of him shone defiantly beneath the moonlight. He remembered watching the other man take out targets with a deadly accuracy. He remembered the smile and wink he was offered when McCree caught him staring after a particularly impressive use of Deadeye. 

Genji remembered wanting McCree. He wanted the man in a way that seemed to come from beyond himself. He knew, distantly, that in his past life he would have loved this strange American. Suave, deadly, eccentric, and impossibly attractive. They would have surely burned Rialto down. And a part of Genji, suddenly impossible to deny, told him tonight they still could. Genji made no attempt to stop himself from stealing every glance he could at McCree that night, drinking him in obsessively, desperate to chase the feelings he remembered from years ago. Only McCree had managed to draw these thoughts out of the deepest parts of what was left of his broken soul, and he would not be denied the chance to take what he could. 

An Assassin managed to reach them while they were waiting for the dropship, and Genji saw red. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, cybernetic enhancements able to catch it before anyone else but not fast enough. The Assassin got one strike off before Genji unleashed the full force of his spirit against the unfortunate fighter. He dismembered the enemy in an instant. Without mercy, without pause. His blood burned hot and bright where it still flowed, and he could feel the lingering effects of Dragonblade coursing through him. He felt alive, as if for the first time. 

Genji looked to the ground where McCree knelt, holding his chest and cursing. It seemed the Assassin had managed to strike true. Moira pulled the man’s hand away and began administering field aid and Genji caught a glimpse of a broad, deep gash just below the other man’s heart. Blood poured from the wound and something dark cut through him at the sight. He grinned at the man behind his mask, dangerous and alive. McCree met his gaze evenly, something unrecognizable in his eyes. 

“Take better care, McCree. I’d hate for you to need a body like mine.” 

McCree’s eyes flashed and he offered a grin of his own, trailing his gaze down Genji’s form appreciatively. “I reckon I could do some real impressive stuff with a body like that.”

Moira finished her work quickly and rolled her eyes, exhausted by the two men. She stood up without a word and moved over to Reyes, discussing something quietly that even Genji could not overhear and leaving him alone with the injured McCree. 

“Is that a threat or a promise, McCree?” Genji dropped down in front of the other man and prodded at the wound. Thanks to the quick work of their medic, it had stopped bleeding and was beginning to heal, but Genji knew it would leave quite a scar. He looked forward to tracing over it later, mapping it out with the rest of this man’s body. 

“It’s whatever you want it to be, darlin’. But you oughta know I always keep my promises.” McCree winced as Genji continued his exploration of the wound on his chest. Genji committed his every reaction to memory, determined to keep this even when the haze of anger erased everything else. 

“I’m counting on that.” Genji nearly growled his response as the sound of flight engines closed in on them rapidly and the drop ship hovered near the edge of a nearby rooftop. Genji held out his remaining human arm for McCree to grasp and pull himself up, wishing that the other man wasn’t wearing gloves so he could feel the rough skin against his own. But there would be time for that later. 

They joined Reyes and Moira on the ship, their commander leveling their still-linked hands with a decidedly unimpressed glare. Genji walked by them without pause and pulled McCree to the back of the ship, where a small washroom sat in the corner. Genji pushed the other man into the room and closed the door behind them, not bothering to secure the latch. He pulled off McCree’s gloves first, discarding them carelessly while the man laughed. 

“Guess there’s nothing wrong with a man who knows what he wants. But I'm keepin' the hat on.” McCree helped Genji remove the rest of his armor, leaving him in just his black hat, undershirt and boxers. Genji spared a withering sigh at the cactus print that adorned the latter and McCree just laughed again. 

“Uhh, so how does something like this work? Not that I haven’t spent a good deal of thought on it, ‘cause I surely have, but I gotta admit that this is kinda new—” McCree rambled, a light blush dusting over his face before Genji silenced him with a hand over his mouth. 

“Quiet. Just feel.” Genji pushed McCree back against the wall and made short work of pulling the man’s cock from his boxers. Genji grinned at the half-erection the taller man was already sporting and reached to his own face to remove the mask that protected the more damaged skin. 

He took McCree between his lips as soon as the mask was off, groaning at the feeling of warmth and skin against his own. He had rarely removed the mask since his enhancement, and the lack of use had made the skin there intoxicatingly oversensitive. He closed his eyes and indulged in the feeling. He distantly noted McCree’s groans and labored breathing but paid them no real attention. He focused solely on the sensation of skin to skin contact, drinking in the taste and caress of the man before him, so full of life. 

Genji sent a neural command to shut down the optic sensors in his eyes and the red irises dimmed and blackened instantly. He continued to caress McCree’s cock with his mouth, reaching up with his human hand to explore what he could reach. He found the wound from earlier and scraped his fingernails over it lightly. He shivered at the pained groan McCree let out, accompanied by a thrust of his hips into Genji’s willing mouth. 

With no visual input, Genji found himself slipping into a state of near-euphoria. He focused on the touch of the other man, the pulsing cock in his mouth, the tight grip of hands caught in his hair, the occasional rake of fingernails on his scalp. Those were familiar, those were human. In those moments, stolen from the man in front of him, Genji remembered what it felt like to be alive. He was driven, frenzied and wrecked, to take everything he could before he lost even this. 

“I reckon someone’s had practice—” Genji heard the American speaking in that drawl, punctuated by gasps of pleasure, and sent another command to the auditory sensors in his network, shutting off all incoming sound. 

Genji continued in silence, completely lost. 

He felt McCree fall off the edge, his release coating the inside of Genji’s mouth. He swallowed, concentrating on the taste like a lifeline in the silent darkness. McCree’s grip on his hair slackened and then smoothed it down as an afterthought. The other man pulled away, leaving Genji alone. 

The darkness remained, and the silence. They surrounded him on all sides, and even seemed to come from within him. He felt their embrace, achingly familiar, and tried to recall what life had been like. Life had been bright and warm and loud, once. It had been that again tonight, but all things came to an end. He didn't know how long he remained that way, kneeling on the floor in self-imposed paralysis, but must have been long enough for McCree to take notice. 

Genji was shocked out of his trance by the feeling of rough hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He sent the command to lift the sensory deprivation. His visual sensors came back online first and he saw McCree yelling at him, worry and panic on his face. McCree must have noticed the red glow returning to his eyes because he pulled him into an embrace, pressing Genji’s face against his shoulder. His auditory sensors came back on moments later, laden with static for a few moments of calibration. 

“Gen—” 

“Thought you’d fuckin —” 

“What the fuck was that all—goddamned idiot.” 

Genji blinked at the other man and picked up his facemask from the floor where he’d dropped it earlier. He moved to replace it and McCree’s hand shot out, wrenching it away and holding it out of reach. 

“Nah, you don’t get to fucking do that. Not now. You have to talk to me.” 

Genji leaned forward and grabbed the mask, strangely disappointed when McCree let him take it without a fight. He fastened it back in place and went to stand before the other man pulled him back down. 

“Genji, come on. You gotta tell me if—” McCree met his eyes searchingly for a moment then shook his head, “You gotta tell me if I hurt you or somethin’. You just shut down, and it really freaked me out.” 

Genji swallowed, unsure why the other man thought his worry would affect him and unsure why it was. The haze threatened to overtake him, clouding his racing thoughts, and Genji gave himself over to it, desperate now to recover in the comfort of that familiarity. 

“Maybe you just aren’t as good as you think you are.” 

McCree pulled back one hand from his shoulder and Genji noticed his fist was clenched. He prepared for the blow, adrenaline coursing hot through his veins, but the blow never came. Instead McCree grabbed his pants off the floor and stormed out, leaving the rest of his armor behind. 

Genji heard voices outside in the main cabin of the dropship, only able to pick out McCree’s angry “Shut the fuck up, Reyes” and the slam of something heavy. 

Genji remembered being alive. He remembered pleasure, friendship, pride. But he also remembered regret, inadequacy, and shame. He felt the numbing haze of brokenness creep back in around him. He remembered that, and he welcomed it.


	4. "Dacryphilia (Crying)" Zenyatta/Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was almost to the door when Moira spoke again, her tone returned to its usual disinterested bite. “It is a useless weapon that feels pain, Genji. But I can at least stop the tears.” Genji froze, considering her offer and its implication.

Author’s Note: I’ll be the first to admit that this one got away from me a little bit. There is actually not one line of smut in this, so it’s connection to the actual kink prompt is very questionable. The relationship focus here is on Genji/Zenyatta, though McCree/Genji is featured as well. There is mention of non-sexual violence that may be considered domestic in nature.  
\--zenso

#  4\. Dacryphilia (Crying) 

The first time tears fell from Genji’s glowing red irises, it had been Moira there to witness it. It had been several days since the disastrous outcome of the mission to Rialto and his short-lived tryst with McCree. Genji had asked Moira to dull the organic remnants of his nervous system, desperate to prevent himself from making that mistake a second time. She had listened to his proposal and seemed eager to help, or at least eager to take on a new project.

He had been hooked up to several of the scientist’s terminals in Blackwatch’s makeshit medical bay, sensory input from his nerves temporarily disabled while Moira calibrated and made adjustments to his cybernetics. She glanced up from her terminal briefly and then moved closer to him, her expression curious in a way it only ever was during her experiments.

“You’re crying.” Her voice was as clinical as always, but tinged with an uncommon interest. Confused, he reached up and touched the skin on his cheek and frowned when his finger came away damp. He hadn’t felt the sting of welling tears or their gentle descent down his face. He couldn’t even feel the wetness on the skin of his hand, but he could see it. 

“Is that normal? I feel fine.” 

“As if I have any idea what’s normal to something like you. You shouldn’t be able to feel anything with communications from your nervous system blocked. Are you experiencing emotional distress?” She spoke hurriedly, already typing away lines of new notation into the record of their session. 

“No more than usual.” 

“Fair enough.” Moira laughed, short and dry. “The human parts of your brain seem to be processing information from your nervous system even with the cybernetic enhancements blocking that information from your conscious mind.” 

Genji nodded, even though he knew Moira was speaking more to herself than to him. 

“I need your permission to send you into the field with some of these changes active.” She made brief eye contact with him while speaking, still typing something on her computer. Genji imagined with a small grin that she was already recording his consent for whatever changes she was considering. He nodded his affirmative when she looked up again. 

“Verbally, please.” 

“You have my consent.”

 

The second person to witness him crying was Commander Reyes during a debriefing. Genji was going over the written mission report, preparing to sign off on his statement and head back to his room. He taken a particularly hard fall during the fight but none of his diagnostic systems reported serious injuries, so he’d declined medical attention and promised to report to Moira in the morning. 

Reyes suddenly shuffled uncomfortably and began digging through his pockets. He threw a piece of cloth down on the table, keeping his eyes deliberately focused on the opposite wall. Genji picked it up and turned it over, trying to figure out what he was meant to do with it. It was a worn, light blue handkerchief with the initials “J.M.” hand-stitched elegantly along one corner. 

He didn’t understand why he’d been given it until he saw a tear fall and darken the fabric. He rubbed it across his eyes angrily and handed it back to Reyes, who was still refusing to make eye contact with him. Genji scribbled his signature at the bottom of the report, not even bothering to finish reading it, and slammed the door behind him on the way out. 

 

The third person was, to his mortification, Jesse McCree. Things had been painfully stilted between them in the weeks following the mission in Rialto, so much so that Reyes was unwilling to send them into the field without Moira or himself present. This didn’t stop them from exchanging harsh words and nearly coming to blows several times, usually as a result of Genji’s incessant prodding. 

Genji had rounded a corner sharply, running straight into the broad chest of the American. McCree’s hands shot out instinctively, steadying him around his hips even as he growled out, “Watch where you’re goin’, Shimada.” 

“As if you weren’t looking for the chance to touch me again, McCree.” Genji narrowed his eyes and placed his own hands on McCree’s shoulders gently, in a mock embrace. Then he shoved the larger man hard against the wall and pulled out of his grasp, continuing down the hallway. 

Genji was stopped by a hand on his prosthetic arm, gripping him tight enough for his cyber-neural system to register pain blooming underneath the man’s fingertips. He spun back around, fully intending to indulge McCree in this familiar dance. 

He was thrown backwards against the wall by the sudden force of McCree’s closed fist making impact with his facemask and the skin beneath his left eye. His vision blurred and he blinked several times, assuming damage to his optic sensors and trying to clear it. 

Since Moira had made her alterations to his human half, he couldn’t feel the pain that McCree had intended to bestow on him. He noted with a dark satisfaction that the other man was rubbing his hand where his knuckles must have contacted the unyielding metal plate covering Genji’s mouth. He laughed at the expression on the American’s face, shock and intoxicating anger. 

“You’re so fucked up.” McCree spat as still cradled his injured fist in his other hand. Genji hoped it was broken. Yet, McCree did not move away, keeping his gaze leveled on the other man. The anger in the man’s expression faded away, replaced by a growing unease and something alarmingly resembling pity. 

Genji blinked again, blurriness still clouding his vision, when he had the sudden urge to reach up and touch his injured face. His fingers came away damp, and not with blood. Anger and shame burned a course through him and he turned away quickly, storming back the way he came, towards Moira’s rooms. 

“Genji, get back here!” McCree yelled after him, but Genji kept walking. 

 

“Fix me. Now.” Genji growled at the red-haired woman when she looked up at him after he entered the Blackwatch medbay. 

“You’ll need to tell me what you did, first.” She narrowed her eyes, taking in the dark bruise already blooming beneath his eye and the tear tracks on his skin. “Lover’s spat, I take it?”  
Genji was across the room in an instant, his prosthetic hand gripping the front of Moira’s black shirt, threatening to lift her off the floor. 

“Make me feel again, or I promise I’ll do something much worse to you. Fix it, Moira.” He kept his voice deadly and level, leaning forward until he was close enough to see his own red irises glowing in the woman’s mix-matched ones. 

Moira replied, unaffected and adopting an air of indifference. “I’m afraid I don’t know to what you are referring. Unhand me before I’m forced to assess you as a threat.”

“You know exactly what I am talking about. After Rialto. You made me not feel anymore. I want it back.” He let the woman go, expecting her to move away from him and was surprised when she did not. 

“I would never perform such an unethical procedure on a patient, Mr. Shimada. I think it’s time for you to leave, don’t you agree?” Moira delivered the lie with a heavily affected tone of concern, a half-smile on her face. 

Genji stepped back, taking her in fully. She was out of uniform and had one sleeve rolled up past her elbow. The skin on that arm was tinted purple and her veins were protruding slightly. Suddenly uneasy, Genji took another step back, and turned to leave. Dr. Ziegler had put him in this body, surely should could undo the damage done by this mad scientist.

He was almost to the door when Moira spoke again, her tone returned to its usual disinterested bite. “It is a useless weapon that feels pain, Genji. But I can at least stop the tears.” Genji froze, considering her offer and its implication.

“...You have my consent.”

 

The next time Genji cried, it was years later. He was in the temple at Nepal, with the only person in his life that he considered himself close to. The only one who understood him and accepted him fully, despite his flaws. His Master floated next to him, deep in meditation, orbs floating lazily around his neck and chiming occasionally. 

Genji held one of those orbs in his arms, warm and glowing a bright gold. Zenyatta had given it to him to help fight off the waves of anger and self-hatred that he did not yet have the strength to resist. He rarely left their shared room without it, though he knew that his dependence on it was an unspoken disappointment to the monk. 

He set the orb down next to him and rolled it far enough away that he could barely sense the Harmony emanating from it. He shifted into a comfortable position and refocused himself on meditation. He felt his conscious mind cloud over instantly with the familiar sensations that Zenyatta called Discord, and he began to panic. In the past, he would have either embraced these feelings and been lost to them or tried to fight in vain and been consumed in the end. 

He took a centering breath, concentrating on the sounds of his Master next to him. The gentle chimes of the orbs, the faint whirring of his fans and mechanical components. Genji pictured his mind as a river and allowed the full forces of his own Harmony and Discord to flow through him. He stood in that river and gently pushed away the thoughts and feelings as they floated by him. He noted the ripples that followed this interference but also saw how quickly they faded. The river continued to flow, never carrying him away or trapping him below it. 

Genji found peace and allowed himself to bask in it as long as he could stand it. When he opened his eyes, he found his Master’s gaze on him. He did not know how long the monk had been focusing on him instead of his own meditation, but the attention was not at all unwelcome. 

“You are beautiful, my student.” Zenyatta’s hand reached out to touch his face, trailing a metal finger delicately across one cheek. Genji felt the touch against his skin for the first time in years and he startled back with an undignified yelp. His human hand flew up to poke at his own face and the monk laughed, artificial and yet more real than anything he could remember hearing. 

Genji looked at Zenyatta, eyes filling quickly with the tears he had never expected to shed again. He reached out to touch the Omnic with the fingers on his human hand, desperate to feel the signs of life underneath the cool metal. His hand came to a rest on the golden part of the monk’s lower faceplate, where his mouth would be if he were human. Genji smiled even as he felt tears fall down his face and into his lap. 

“And these are beautiful too.” Zenyatta hummed as he reached back out and wiped some of the tears from Genji’s cheeks before pulling him into a gentle embrace.


	5. "Sadism/Masochism" Reyes/Morrison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d barely made contact with the rough sheets below him when Morrison flipped him onto his back, earlier golden-boy attitude abandoned. Reyes met the eyes that stared into him, dark and flaring, and couldn’t help the full shudder that ran through him. He’d always felt drawn to sadists, but he knew that even if Morrison had been his first that he’d do anything the man above him wanted.

Author’s Note: This chapter brought to you by Jameson Reserve.  
\--zenso

#  5\. Sadism/Masochism 

“So you’ve been walking around with this pretty little number and you expect me to believe you didn’t know you were gay until you met me?” Reyes held up the offending object, a light blue handkerchief, as if it caused him pain to do so and waved it teasingly in front of the exhausted strike commander. 

Morrison’s hand shot out and grabbed the piece of cloth, using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead before dropping it on the bedside table. “I lived on a farm, it’s not exactly hard to work up a sweat out there.” Morrison laid an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the light coming from the overhead fluorescent. “Can you turn that thing off now?” 

Reyes snatched the handkerchief from where the other man had dropped it, grabbing his jacket from the floor and shoving the cloth into the inside pocket with a grin, then turned the light off. “It’s embroidered, Morrison.” 

Morrison groaned and sat up, searching for Reyes’s silhouette in the now-darkened room. “Would it kill you to call me Jack?” 

Reyes threw himself unceremoniously onto the bed next to the strike commander and gave his signature shrug and a deadpan “Maybe.”

“How do you still have so much energy?” Morrison grumbled and laid down next to him, adjusting a pillow behind their heads. 

“Probably on account of my deal with the devil. You want some?” Reyes climbed on top of the other man, settling in his lap and leaning down to press his mouth against Morrison’s neck. 

“I’d love some peace and quiet, thanks for offering.” Morrison rolled his eyes as Reyes mouthed at his neck but stiffened when he moved up towards his ear and breathed out softly, hot and heavy against him. “I’ll let you be on top.”

Morrison flipped them both over in an instant, blue eyes searching for Reye’s brown ones in the dark. He pinned the darker man down and must have found what he was looking for in the other man’s expression. He leaned down and kissed Reyes, all renewed passion and dominance. He reached between them and grasped both of their half-hard erections, thankful they hadn’t bothered to redress after their earlier round. He pressed his tongue further into Reyes’s mouth, tasting him before biting down on his lower lip.

Morrison pulled back just enough to growl a question into the man’s still-parted mouth. “Any limits this time?” 

“Never. Show me what you got, viejo.” Reyes grinned up at him unapologetically. Morrison struck the expression from his face with an open hand, offering a grin of his own at the crack that resonated through the room and the way the other man’s head snapped to the side. 

Reyes found Morrison’s eyes again once his head cleared and he flushed at the intense, searching gaze focused on him. “Not bad. You can do better.” 

Reyes groaned and then gasped as the man above him laid down two more blows in quick succession before putting his hand around his neck and pressing down hard against his windpipe. Morrison kept his other hand between them, stroking both of their hardening cocks together. 

The men did not see eye-to-eye on many issues, in the field or away from it, but in moments like these they were perfectly matched. Reyes was darkness and Morrison light, but here, like this, the line between them blurred and faded. Reyes had never felt as alive as he did when the man above him used him this way and broke him down. He knew Morrison must feel similarly, always playing his part too well for Reyes to believe he didn’t need this outlet too. 

Reyes struggled for air and felt his head start to spin, face heating up as the unrelenting pressure bore down on his neck. He grasped at the hand around his throat with both hands and managed to pry it off just in time, using the freedom to take in several shuddering breaths. Morrison let go of their erections and flipped him over easily, using a hand to press his face down into the pillow. “Stay down.” 

Reyes was more than happy to obey, especially when he felt the strike commander pull his legs apart and begin to open him up. If the rough drag of skin and nails was any indicator, the other man had chosen to forgo lubrication. 

Reyes felt his heart race, impossibly fast, while Morrison prepared him. It was too much, too rough, too dry, too tight. And somehow, still not enough. Reyes pressed back against his partner, silently urging him to give him more. He growled in dissatisfaction when the other man pulled away completely, leaving him spread open obscenely on the bed. 

Reyes heard the telltale sounds of his partner rummaging through the bedside drawer and a cap being twisted off. He shifted both hands above his head and gripped the sheets, waiting for the inevitable shock of penetration. His body was alight with sensations, from the dull ache where Morrison’s hand had struck his face to the tension burning hot and low in his neglected erection. He ground his hips down into the mattress in a half-hearted attempt to release himself from the latter. 

He’d barely made contact with the rough sheets below him when Morrison flipped him onto his back, earlier golden-boy attitude abandoned. Reyes met the eyes that stared into him, dark and flaring, and couldn’t help the full shudder that ran through him. He’d always felt drawn to sadists, but he knew that even if Morrison had been his first that he’d do anything the man above him wanted. 

The other man knelt between his legs and leaned down to growl in his ear. “You’re going to regret this ‘no limits’ thing, Gabriel.” 

“Promises promises, guero.” Reyes basked in the flames ignited by hearing his given name from his partner’s low rumble. Nobody called him Gabriel, not even Morrison except for when he gave himself over to situations like this one. He’d never been able to figure out why, but he was hardly going to complain when the name sounded nearly like sex itself from the other man. 

The feeling, more familiar than probably wise, of a loosely closed fist slamming into his lip knocked all coherent thought from his mind. Without any time to recover, Reyes felt rough lips cover his own and bite down hard. The relentless assault drew a long and low pitched groan from him, head swimming and pain blooming along the lower side of his face. He tasted blood and knew he’d be sporting a split lip tomorrow, even with his advanced healing. He’d learned his lesson about going to Moira for injuries like these after his last patch up with her had left him feeling powerful but disconcertingly detached from his own body for weeks. He’d also sooner bleed out than hear another lecture on the danger of sexual violence from Angela.

Morrison pulled away from his mouth and bit down on the side of his throat, right where his pulse thrummed rapidly. Soon after, the unmistakable feeling of being split open by his partner’s cock overtook him. He didn’t bother trying to temper the shout that escaped him, hands flying up to grasp desperately at Morrison’s chest. The other man wasn’t having it and pinned his wrists back down against the bed with a deadly quickness, mouth never releasing its hold on his neck. 

The rough drag of his partner’s cock inside him, tempered only slightly by the lubricant he must have applied for his own sake, was intoxicating to Reyes. His moans and occasional whines echoed in the empty room as the strike commander snapped his hips flush against him. He felt the other man’s hands release his wrists in favor of gripping his thighs and pushing his knees to his chest to reach a deeper angle. 

“Fuck, Jack!” He indulged his partner in using his first name and found he enjoyed the way it felt on his tongue. It was certainly easier to get out than 'Morrison', especially when the man seemed intent on robbing him of his ability to attempt coherent speech. Morrison slammed into him at a new and impossibly deeper angle without pause, taking his pleasure freely. Reyes felt every inch of the cock inside him in stark contrast to his own erection, untouched and throbbing against his stomach. He didn’t dare reach down to touch himself or the man on top of him, hands instead fisting into the sheets over and over in desperation while he writhed beneath his partner.

When Morrison found that spot deep inside him that made him see white, his pleas fell off the edge of coherency, a long string of Spanish and English fighting each other for dominance. His partner seemed to prefer his silence and slammed a pillow down over his face, muffling the mess of words that poured from him. 

“Always liked you better when you were quiet, Gabriel.” He punctuated this statement with a particularly sharp thrust of his cock and then stilled, breathing noticeably labored. Reyes knew this meant he was close, and he rolled his hips to try and goad the man into continuing, suddenly desperate to feel his release. 

Morrison caught on to his intentions with a dangerous growl and took hold of Reyes’s cock with a grip that clearly left no room for negotiation. He snapped into Reyes and stroked him at the same time with an unrivaled ferocity. Into the pillow, Reyes rambled out thanks to every god he could name for the soldier enhancement program, knowing he’d never be able to reach heights like this without the changes inflicted on both of them.

His own release took him by surprise, draining him entirely and making him writhe and struggle beneath his partner. His cock was painfully overstimulated but Morrison continued to take more from him, not sparing a second thought for the whines that threatened to escape from his clenched teeth. 

Mercifully, when Reyes was sure he could not physically take any more, Morrison tensed above him. The pillow covering his face was ripped away and thrown to the floor. Lips found his own again, intoxicatingly gentle this time, as the other man’s hips stuttered through his own release. There was a moment of stillness between them before the tension in Morrison’s body fell away and he nearly collapsed on top of Reyes, catching himself with an arm beside his head at the last second. 

They broke their kiss, sharing breaths between them before Reyes laughed, dark eyes gleaming and drunk on pleasure. Morrison joined him and pulled out, rolling to one side of his partner to lay beside him. He slung an arm around Reyes’s midsection and rested his head lazily on his chest, pressing a kiss to the hardened muscle he found there. 

They lay in a companionable silence for several minutes, breaths evening out and the rush of endorphins bleeding away into a blissful peace. Neither seemed to mind the state they were in, filthy with sweat and other fluids, content to worry about those things in the morning. Reyes pulled the blanket over both of them and Morrison had almost managed to fall asleep, head still resting on the other man, when Reyes broke the silence. 

“So, did you really have to throw the pillow on the floor?”


End file.
